The First Yes
- Erika Brulé
- Oct 22
- 3 min read

It happened on Zoom. February 13, 2024.
By then, I’d already spent months buried in research, deck-building, and spreadsheets, so I was ready. I had the presentation pulled up, coffee in hand, and zero nerves. We’d just done our BrightSpots Pizza Party with The Midnight Mission the week before, and I’d spent the night laughing with kids and talking with staff. The energy was still in my body. So when the call started, it didn’t feel like a pitch. It felt like bringing an idea home.
David Prentice (President + CEO), Donald Holt (COO), and Ricardo Rosales (Director of Homelight Family Living) were on screen. I was at my desk, walking them through what Flip4Good was, what it could mean for transitional housing, and why this needed to start with them. It wasn’t strategy—it was alignment.
The Midnight Mission had always been the birthplace of Flip4Good. Why wouldn’t our first Flip happen there?
They asked smart questions. About timing, approvals, insurance, logistics. They wanted the deck to share with their committee and board, which I’d expected. But underneath all of that, I could feel it—the yes. It was already there.
David said he didn’t anticipate any resistance. Ricardo said they were excited and could see the impact. Donald was direct and supportive. It was one of those rare calls where everything clicked. No friction. No convincing. Just alignment.
When the call ended, I sat back for a second. Then I smiled, stood up, and did a full-on silent dance in my office.
No tears, no dramatic music—just that feeling of, OK. It’s happening.
And then I did what I always do when something feels real: I opened a spreadsheet. The tracker I’d quietly started months earlier—“Flips–TMM–001–02”—was sitting in my Drive, waiting for its moment. I went straight into workback planning. If the goal was to have the space live by a certain date, I needed to build every step in reverse.
That yes made it real. Not theoretical. Not someday. Real.
I didn’t call anyone. I didn’t post about it. I didn’t celebrate. I just got to work.
But here’s the thing no one saw.
By the time that yes came, I’d already been carrying a lot of noise. People I loved had made me question everything I was doing. Some of it was subtle—quiet skepticism masked as advice. Some of it wasn’t subtle at all. One person literally screamed at me on the phone: “This is the stupidest idea in the world. You’re not a philanthropist. You’re not rich.”
That line still plays in my head sometimes. Like a track I can’t mute.
So when The Midnight Mission said yes, it hit different. It wasn’t validation of the work—it was validation of me.
It said: You’re not crazy. You’re not naïve. You’re right.
And in my head, to every person who doubted me, I said what I still say sometimes when things get hard: EFF THEM.
Because that yes was the first real proof that the idea could move. That someone outside of me saw it, believed in it, and was willing to build it with me.
The yes was belief in the mission, sure—but more than that, it was belief in my ability to make it real.
So I went back to the spreadsheet, renamed the tab, and started building.
Because the only thing left to do after the first yes—is to make it undeniable.
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